


.fox hunt.

by kukinom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, but Derek is head over heels anyway, stiles is a little shit in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kukinom/pseuds/kukinom
Summary: ༺──────────────────═༻❁༺═──────────────────༻The youth lifts a critical brow, looking at him from down the delicate tip of their upturned nose, growing ever more skyward as he responds to the Alpha's concern like one would to muck on their shoes, inconvenienced.༺──────────────────═༻❁༺═──────────────────༻
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 58
Kudos: 269





	1. first impressions

**Author's Note:**

> So this- *vague hand gesture towards what i've written*- just kinda happened ( ꒪ヮ꒪*)

Tired after a long and endlessly tedious dinner of listening to Peter accusing him - once again, of being some sort of hermit recluse, entrenched in his country estate like an aged and gloomy, sickly old man, waiting to wither away while yearning for someone young and vibrant to remind him he's still alive. 

It was not nearly that bad - as of yet. He was not even that old, barely five and twenty.

But it was true that Derek has never been a friend of London’s high society and all the theatrics that being part of the upper echelon entailed. Unlike his uncle who flourished in this envirorment of false pleasantries, Derek personally despises the mindless chatter- only meant to be either baseless flattery or veiled insults. 

Derek does not have the constitution or the temper for mingling with neither aristocracy nor the nouveau riche.

He much rather enjoys his time riding and hunting and being on his own - which ultimately made it difficult to find him a bride. He might be considered handsome to some but all of the money and good looks in the world could not persuade anyone to look past his most sour demeanor, or so Peter claims. 

His family has been keen on finding him someone worthy of his station, who would fill the holes in his life, manage his household and be sociable in his place - as well as assure that he would not drop dead before at least siring an heir.

Yet none of the candidates presented to him were ever any interesting to his palate. Coy smiles and shy glances - but false displays of innocent playfulness, ever contrasting sharply with that cutting glint in their eyes, not much unlike predators. Omegas are witty and charming but could be incredibly vicious if they so wanted.

Often dismissed as subservient and weak willed, Omegas are in all honesty, the most quick witted and agile of all, with plenty of tricks up their sleeve. What they inherently lack in raw strength and social position which would allow them to simply take what they desired - they make up for in speed and brains, instead resorting to clever manipulation to get their ways. 

Playing Alphas and Betas like marionettes by the strings of their instincts. Little master puppeteers that as petty pastime amusement - have honorable folk make fools out of themselves. Omegas had, after all, not much they could amuse themselves with.

Peter's self-imposed quest in search for another decanter of wine, led him out of the sitting room, giving Derek the oportunity to slip away unnoticed from his uncles insistent banter about possible matches. 

Forgoing coat and cravat to make his quick evening round on horse through the premises and take some, much needed, fresh air. 

The sun has begun to set and Derek was just about to roundoff and ride back home when through the tree line - he could make out someones silhouette in the evening red. A suspicious figure, dressed in clothes that are much too big on their slender frame, cloaked in a military longcoat - much too large and obscuring their entirety. The veil on their riding hat like those Beta women and Omegas usually tended to wear, making it impossible to identify them from this distance.

Determined to investigate, Derek approached them in a trot, quickly catching up and putting himself in their path, obliging the stranger to halt as to not run their horses into each other.  
Underneath the scent of forest and horse sweat he could now pick up on it, the subtle aroma of white blossoms and thick candied musk. An Omega.

Now this close Derek could actually make out the intruders features, that are still soft with youth. Large eyes shining radiantly golden in the light of the setting sun. A pretty, young Omega, most inappropriately dressed and unchaperoned, all on their lonesome on horse back on a secluded field path during nightfall. 

Derek was not in the position to reprimand an Omega that wasn't his own, he was no brute after all. Instead assuming his gentlemanly duty, and see that the young Omega is returned back home unharmed to their family, as is due.

''It is fairly late. I believe i shall accompany you home this instant.'' 

Now that he has spoken out loud he guesses he could have been a little more tactful with his words. Because the Omegas eyes on him are no longer doe-like, but instead, they have become pomp and fierce.

The youth lifts a critical brow, looking at him from down the delicate tip of their upturned nose, growing ever more skyward as he responds to the Alpha's concern like one would to muck on their shoes, inconvenienced. 

The omegas speckled mare treads in place, restless, in response to the shift in the atmosphere or simply because she wanted to continue onwards, either way kicking up dust. The young man calms her with a gloved hand to her neck, stroking it soothingly- before directing his attention back to Derek, cutting him with amber eyes, sharp as daggers.

''You need not concern yourself with my well being, my lord. I am well capable of taking care of myself.'' Wielding the riding crop like one would a blade, in show of how he would defend himself would the need for it arise. The allusion to him striking out with it against Derek if necessary, not lost on the Alpha.

Before Derek could speak up to defend his honor they heard another horse approximating at a rapid gallop. 

An older Alpha with a most impressive pair of sideburns and moustache, his posture - ramrod straight and unwavering atop his mount, holding a rigidity in his features that let everyone around know he has spent most of his life in the military.

Despite the persona he was not very strict, as far as fathers of young Omegas went. In fact - the man seemed extraordinary lenient. Not even exasperated but simply - importuned by the fact he had to ride out in search of his son. The lines of weariness above his brow suggested this was not the first time he had to do this either.

''You duke Hale, da? We had not pleasure of introduction yet. I am field marshal Justek Stilinski.'' The marshal's accent was thick and slavic, much more pronounced than his son's who purred his words rather than barked them, like the marshal did. ''Appears we are neighbors, just moved into the Hillside estate on outskirts of your land and Mieczyslaw here must have traspassed without taking notice.'' 

The look on the Omegas face defied that statement, it was clear that the youth- Michi- Mishlisli- the Omega, was very well aware of what he was doing but remained silent, probably to save himself the trouble of trying to justify himself. 

''He is like animal,'' the marshal continued umprompted. ''rabid ferret, can't keep him locked up- always finds a way to escape even if it means biting through cage, Pah!''

Without much further ceremony the Stilinski's take their leave. Derek can see them arguing even from a distance but in a way that was more of a back and forth bickering rather than a dispute that would suggest the young Omega'd be punished for his actions.

Derek stomps into the entrance hall just as Peter appears, the new decanter of wine in his hand already half empty. Derek takes it off his uncles hand and drinks right from it's muzzle.

''Where have you been?'' Peter asks, brow lifted in question as he watches half of the good red spill down his nephew's neck and staining the collar of his shirt. 

''Introduced myself to the new Hillside tenants.'' Derek returns the now empty carafe to his uncles hands, letting him take care of it before making his way upstairs and into his rooms to take rest.

That night Derek dreamed of sharp Amber eyes and pouty, rose petal lips.


	2. the hunting party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy this chapter ✧⁺⸜(●′▾‵●)⸝⁺✧

When his uncle first told him about a hunting party, Derek believed the prey of such a get together would be a stag or a boar.. a fox. Not he himself.

The hunters? Young lords and ladies of marriageable age. It was hunting-season, and Derek caught in the middle of it. 

Dressed in silk and pearls, flocking around him like bees to pollen. It would be different if Derek felt attraction towards any one of them but considering he does not - they were just as pestering as buzzing insects, and he had to keep himself from instinctively swatting at them with his hand.

Young lady Lumley, who has attached herself to his side, not much unlike a barnacle to a ship's keel, was not subtle in her intentions. 

Without any striking features apart from being Conventionally pretty - so much so in fact it would eventually bore him, she was also a most prosy conversationalist. The topics of her interests - would rather sooner than later give Derek dyspepsia from trying to make them more entertaining with wine.

Their incompatible dispositions would make enjoyable cohabitation difficult if not out right impossible. For in a world like theirs it is a blessing when a married pair can even stand dwelling in the same room for the length of an evening. 

Derek would not be able to stand an evening with lady Lumley alone in a room. 

His only solace in this situation? Peter must be just as bored of her, for he has just as little if not less interest - in the joys and intricacies of breeding and keeping pugs, than Derek does. But his uncle kept nodding his head politely every once and again, because he seemed entertained enough for now just looking at her cleavage.

''She might have been a terrible bore but was a pleasure to look upon.'' Peter tells him after lady Lumley has finally taken her leave.

Derek did not honor that with an answer of his own, instead sipping on his lemonade and glance abstracted over the bustle about. Until his attention was caught by the tinkle of child laughter. When he finally spots where it is coming from, Derek sees him. 

The Omega is a flurry of pastel silks, twirling and spinning while laughing wholeheartedly as he spins, hands held with four small children in a merry round dance that was gradually spinning faster and soon - out of control. One of the tiny hands slipped out of anothers grasp and all of them flung to the ground. 

Derek tenses instinctively, ready to rush over and assist, when again he could see Mishi - Minchisliov- the Stilinski youth, without a care in the world for propriety, rolling joyously in the grass like a dog. The fine pongee of his clothes stained green and speckled with clover and grass, his belly jumping with laughter, echoing the childrens amusement. 

Marshal Stilinski appears, ready to reprimand but his son - still sprawled on the ground, simply smiles up at his father. That alone is seemingly enough to placate the older man. 

Turning on his heel, looking very much like a soldier dismissed by their superior, the marshal spots Derek in the crowd - and for some reason decides to head his way. 

Stilinski sits down, uninvited, at their table with a heavy thump. Sighing tiredly, as if having the weight of the world upon his back. ''Mieczyslaw too old to play like child, you agree? Have spoiled him and now i fear i will die before i see him wed - and i can't have that, da?'' 

The field marshal continues to unload all of his worries unto Derek and his uncle- whom he has not even introduced himself to. Peter is entirely confused as to why there suddenly is a stranger at their table, though societal as he is and sensing great entertainment from the man, quickly makes conversation. 

Derek's attention in turn is still on the marshal's son and the children, squeaking, like little piglets as they chase each other around. So lost in thought he barely notices their growing group, until their new company sits down right by Derek's side.

Lydia Martin is beautiful and of good name, but she has the manners of a cat that's been stepped on. Derek found her most unpleasant to be around, too disagreeable in nature for him to even consider, yet his uncle always seemed completely smitten by her cold eyes and sharp tongue - especially when it lashed out against him. Peter has always had somewhat of a masochistic streak.

She levels Derek with a look, haughty and uppish, like his station was not above hers and he should be honored to even be allowed to reside in her close proximity. So why? He thought, did she decide to take seat beside him?

''Stiles can be brash and excentric and a handful but he is genuine and without malice.. though he has made more society ladies cry with his remarks than we'd like to admit.'' She mumbles the last bit into her glass as if trying to drown that fact in lemonade and make it disappear. ''But i am his only friend and he is the only mine. If he is unhappy i am the one who in the end will suffer the consequences of his insufferable temper.”

It seems she is talking to the marshal- they are well acquainted after all, but her eyes are on Derek the whole time, as if directing her words at him. They sounded like veiled threats which confused him even further. What in gods name is a Stiles?

''I am now too sweaty for decent society. We shall go home, da?'' Even the sweat of a beauty smells nicely, Derek can't help but think when the Stilinski youth's scent reaches him. Now much sweeter and potent than he remembers it being from the evening they first met. He takes a lung full - simply to relish in it. 

''Luckily for us then it is only the duke Hale and his- entourage.'' Lady Martin says, her voice like a knife dipped in honey. The Stilinski youth gives her a look that is just as sharp and much less sweet. Derek could see how those two get along well, they have the same kind of attitude.

Young Stilinski makes a show of a curtsy. ''Good afternoon, gentlemen. Pardon me being this disheveled. Looking for a mate seems like such a dreadful hassle, the children are simply much more delightful company.''

''Surely a young Omega such as yourself will eventually want to get married one day.'' Peter argues, much to the marshals delight and the Omegas displeasure. Derek can't keep from staring into the Omegas amber eyes as they practically stab his uncle with their wrath.

''I'd rather be a bird, living in the upper branches of a tree that only swoops to the level of Alphas to eat the insects they stir up in their evenings wrestling in the grass. I care not for their gingambobs, they may keep them.''

The field marshal suddenly spitting his drink across the table, is not entirely unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi: 'gingambobs' are a man's privates ( ◜◡＾)ノ ╰⋃╯
> 
> Kudos, comments and critique are appreaciated.


	3. the ballroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is the obligatory regency story 'ball-scene'.. just without any dancing (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)

Lady Thynne, styled - The Marchioness Dowager of Bath, has been widowed longer than she was ever married, and she was married three times. With the wealth she has accumulated- and no heirs to the title, she indulges herself now in her advanced age in a lavish country estate away from the stink of the city, and enjoys arranging evening parties and balls to entertain herself and the gentry spending the winter in the countryside.

Or rather - entertain herself by making most inappropriate remarks at everyone around her while she is seated in a throne-like chair near the dance floor. Lady Thynne is- by now, much too old to care about if others found her rude, and for that Derek envied her greatly.

Usually he heeds the invitations of lady Thynne not, given that he isn't one for socializing, and does not care for dance nor watching the bon ton drink themselves into altitudes. Derek would already have to deal with that - most unwillingly, once spring comes, and it meant; back to his london address to attend the Parliamentary session, where hopefully this year for a change there would be some advancement made worth mentioning.

The beau monde was not Derek's world, and the prospect of Peter dragging him along to theatre and opera, knowing very well how terribly such things bored Derek, already making him feel miserable. So- why exactly was he not at home with a good book?

For the entirety of the evening, Derek has been wearing a frown so impressive, it scared away most everyone around him, leaving him standing all on his own in the middle of the ball room.  
But it was only natural, he supposed, for the sole reason he has come here in the first place, the only time in his life he intend to have a single dance, maybe even- a waltz, if he was to be lucky enough, the person whom he wished to dance with - wore no dance card around their wrist nor shows any interest in stepping even one foot onto the dance floor, least of all- with Derek.

What has become of his person, Derek wonders. Here he is- most vexed about being denied to dance - which is just mad, given he dislikes dancing with ardent passion. 

For the better part of an hour now, he has been watching the Stilinski youth from across the room. Not once has the Omega left his father's side- or let go of his hand. Even when the marshal would try to shake out of his son's grasp, the youth would simply hold on to the marshal's jacket sleeve or tailcoat instead. 

Judging by marshal Stilinski's moustache, held crooked and his brows deeply furrowed, he was most unhappy with his son having rejected everyone and their offer to dance.

Emptying the remnants of his now- third glass of bourbon, Derek has gathered enough liquid courage to simply approach the pair. He might not have the possibility to converse with the Stilinski youth alone on the dance floor, but doing so under the supervision of the Omega's father was still better than having come here for nothing.

''Field marshal. Young Omega Stilinski.'' Derek greets, and is caught off guard when the marshal grabs him by both shoulders, pulling him into a hug- so abrupt and fierce, that it could be mistaken for assault with how much force is put into the embrace. The marshal let's go of him to simply beat him instead, the older Alpha's hand coming down on Derek's back so heftily, it hits the air out of his lungs.

''Mieczyslaw, child. Look who it is.'' The marshal shouted, merrily, and loud like a war horn.

''Ah, yes papa. It is the lord- what was the name again?'' The Omega says, pointedly slighting him with a voice as light and sweet like spun sugar.

Allowing one corner of his mouth to curve upward. Two can play this game, Derek thinks. ''It isn't polite to forget an Alpha's name.''

''It is not like the fine lord knows my name either.'' 

That is a lie. Derek knows- oh he knows, he simply can not wrap his tongue around it. ''For an Omega to argue with an Alpha is also impolite.'' 

The youth's perfectly-shaped nose wrinkles, irked. Derek should be appalled. Any man of his standing would be, to be affronted like so. But instead- Derek is delighted.

Unfortunately, it seems that Derek suddenly making conversation had others believe they may simply take part, and soon after he found himself surrounded by people Derek is convinced have not even been introduced to him.

The Stilinski youth escapes from the conversation without a word or excuse, disappearing through the open French doors leading onto the terrace. 

Derek excuses himself from the group and rushes after the Omega, nearly toppling someone over in his haste and spilling another's drink. He cares not how it must look like to so zealously follow a lone Omega out into the dark garden - for the marshal, who is watching him attentively, does not try and interfere. Maybe Alpha Stilinski hopes for peace of mind, knowing his son will be compromised or even ruined- so that Derek would do what is honorable and marry him.

The proper Alpha that he is, Derek would do so.. in a heartbeat.

There is a fresh breeze when he steps outside, the wind rustling the leaves of the trees around and masking the sound of his footsteps as they close in on the Omega perched on the balustrade, contemplating the crescent moon. The youth is a vision, the dark blue of his garments nearly disappearing into the darkness of the night sky and contrasting beautifully with his pale complexion. 

Such dark colors are rarely worn by unmarried Omegas, and just as untypical are the pair of mismatched oriental earrings of gold, pearl and jade, catching the moonlight like chandeliers. Yes, in a heartbeat, he thinks again.

If Derek had any knack for poetic flattery, he would attempt to convey his feelings in a sonnet, however, Derek does not care for poetry and instead has to do by putting his own foot in his mouth.

''Not one for conversation i see.'' 

The Omega snaps his head back in Derek's direction, surprised. Looking the Alpha up and down in disbelieve, before scrunching up his face into an insulting grimace of distaste, not masking his disregard for Derek in the slightest, giving a high pitched 'hmpf' for emphasis before turning away again.

''I don't care enough for societal expectationd to feign interest in a conversation with them nor you-'' The youth does not have the courtesy to keep his tone falsely pleasant - like before.

''Everyone is interested in me.'' Derek answers smoothly- and is stabbed by eyes the color of cognac, sharp as daggers.

''Then go find 'everyone' and leave me be.'' the Omega harrumphed again- like a pony, and turned his face away most petulantly. Leave him be? If only Derek could do so.

''What exactly are your interests then?''

''Riding, hunting, reading.'' The Omega answers gruffly, face inscrutable.

''Riding and hunting? You intrigue me,'' Derek said, for it was the truth. The youth's expression softened into mild wonderment, before his petal pink lips turned into a mischievous smile, the most beautiful curve Derek has ever seen- and caught himself staring at it for a tad longer than was decent. 

''Precisely. I also enjoy rolling around in the mud- like a sow, and on wednesdays- i climb up the roof to crow like a rooster at sunrise. I don't believe someone such as yourself - fancy and important, should linger around the likes of me, wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation after all.'' 

The Omega sighs, theatrically and loud. ''I fear - it was simply never meant to be. farewell, my lord.'' Dusting himself off, now back on his feet the Stilinski youth prepares himself to go back inside.

''Duke.'' Derek says, loud enough to make the Omega stop.

The youth turns his head back, earrings swinging with the motion. ''Pardon?'' He asks, brow arched.

''I am a duke, not a 'lord'. So, henceforth You may refer to me as your grace.''

The Omega's nose scrunches up again, much more crinkly than before, lip curled- showing a flash of fang, and Derek can't help but find him lovely still. 

''You can be emperor for all i care, i will still take my leave. Good night- my LORD.'' 

There is not much Derek can do but watch the Omega disappear back inside, his slender figure quickly lost in the multitude. 

Sudden loud laughter behind him catches his attention and he turns around- only to see it is Peter, smiling at him, wickedly, from a bench not even five steps away. How has Derek not noticed him sitting there this entire time? His uncle had obviously seen and heard it all, how Derek has made a fool of himself; because of course Peter did.

''You are completely taken with him, but i can see why dear nephew, he has entirely no care for manners and mores. You two suit each other perfectly.''

Derek makes an effort to scoff. ''He is a brat, wild like a forest thing and terribly rude- didn't you hear, how he was mocking me?'' Raking his hands through his own hair in frustration and tugging at his carefully tied cravat, upsetting the careful work of his valet.

Peter smirks, taking a sip of his port and watching with great amusement how his nephew was gradually working himself into mania over the young Omega. Chuckling to himself. ''Entirely smitten.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name inspiration for Lady Thynne came from; Emma Thynn, Marchioness of Bath, who is a model and tv-personality and the first black Marchioness in the history of great brittain. you go girl.
> 
> Also- what would a male Omega be styled when marrying a Duke?? Would it just be Duchenne? Cause two Duke's is kinda confusing.. Dukenne??? I have no idea how to do that.. ugh. Are any of the characzers titles even right? I try to look this all up but i can make no sense of it. what do you think? 
> 
> Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated♡♡♡


	4. going fox hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on i will include some of Stiles POV as well... hope you enjoy!! ヾ(＾-＾)ノ

It is a beautiful day; as beautiful as the rain-soaked English countryside could get, he supposed, but more importantly - a day clear enough for a hunt. 

Still fairly early in the morning, the sun barely resting upon the tops of trees- still dozing. Stiles relishes in the way the frost covered grass crunches beneath his boots as he walks, and the air- crisp and cool, stings in his lungs when he inhales deeply. A welcome change from the usual parties his Papa made him attend. 

Before they moved to the countryside, Stiles had been carelessly thinking that- so far away from London, he would be safe from other's unwanted attention and attempts of courting. He was awfully wrong. 

It is the way of nature- it seems, that most think an eligible young Omega not hunting for a mate- evidently wishes to be hunt down instead. Of course that is not the case. therefore- to defend himself against unwanted attacks, Stiles has acquired a talent for ridding himself of even the most persistent of suitors; by saying what he meant rather than beating around the bush like so many of his contemporaries. 

Stiles cares not for flowery words, no. He prefers people to not unnecessarily waste his time and simply say what it is they have to say, instead of prosing on about his- beauty and wit and gentle disposition. Stiles and a gentle disposition? What a farce. 

All of it has been said to him before; his scent likened to whatever ambrosial thing first came to mind and his eyes compared to- southern seas and alpine glaciers, when they are so clearly brown of color. Apparently some gentry are so far up their own arse they can't even recognize colors correctly. 

His papa's fears of suddenly passing away and leaving his only son joining a theatre troupe or becoming a tavern wench, if he did not find Stiles a spouse- this very instant- to prevent that from happening, is entirely unfounded and unreasonable. Stiles has no need for a spouse nor a mate; he has enough of an inheritance that he could live the rest of his life simple and tranquil and alone if he so wishes. 

But he does wish for love, despite of what his father may think and fear, yet Stiles does not wish for just anyone - or for his marriage to be little more than one of polite indifference and only based on mutual benefit. 

He wishes for someone who shares his interests, someone who will not treat him as lesser for simply being an Omega, or feel slighted by Stiles astuteness. Someone who won't try to mold him into what society expects him to be, but instead accept him just the way he is. Someone who will truly love him.

Lydia calls him unrealistic and impractical - accuses him of being a romantic, and a fool. 

He adores Lydia as if she were his own sister, but she is not pleasant to be around when she is in ill humor. She can be a pest if she so wishes- and sometimes has a tendency toward melodrama when she had her menses. Stiles preferred she stay at home with a cherry pit pillow to soothe her ails and grouse - rather than have her accompany him here.

In her stead, he is chaperoned by Ennis, whose bulk and stony-faced demeanor seem to deter most who usually try and approach him. Stiles would be thankful for that- if the man wasn't such a terrible bore. Like Parrish, Ennis is not an employed servant - papa simply brought him home after the war to live with them. If people asked, Stiles was to call him a footman, even if it feels wrong to do so.

''You may do whatever you wish.'' Ennis tells him with a yawn as he makes himself comfortable in a chair, hat tipped low enough to shield his face from the sun- now shining high and bright. ''Within reason,'' he adds hastily, before Stiles can run off.

Loud barking catches the Omega's attention, a pack of scent hounds is surveying the area- and in their midst stand the Hales. Stiles' breath hitches when his eyes meet with the Duke's.

Stiles has a disinclination to gossip, but couldn't help but pick up on all the tittle-tattle about the Lord Hale, Duke of something or another, and how many of the Omega had their eyes on him - even though the young Alpha made it clear he wasn't on the market for a wife; some merely see it as a challenge. His Grace's reputation among the Ladies of the ton- for being stoic and somewhat mysterious, not unlike the protagonist of a saucy novel, only added to the attraction his title held. 

The Duke Hale didn’t seem particularly mysterious to Stiles. In fact, Stiles can think of several ways to better describe the man with; a blepharon, self-important, snobbish- and, if one could judge by the slightly slack-jawed way he is looking at Stiles.. perhaps even a tad simple.

Persistent; is another word that comes to mind. The most persistent Alpha as of yet, and that alone is impressive- given the lot of them are awfully persistent. Dog with a bone, Parrish would say. 

Even after Stiles has been- he admits, awfully rude to his Grace during lady Thynne's ball, the Duke had not gone out of his way to ruin Stiles' reputation. No, instead Stiles was sent a bouquet by him - and then again, and again and again. It both irritated and ignited the Omega's mind, so much so it kept him up most nights.

There are four bouquets as of now, and Stiles has them all displayed, even though the first had already begun to wilt - he simply can't bring himself to throw them out. 

Stiles likes to think himself one of the few that prefers the company of an agile mind over that of an agile body, but even he can admit that the Duke is remarkably.. able-bodied. Mayhap he padded his coats? Stile's gaze drops to the Alpha Hale's tight buckskin breeches, wondering if he perhaps padded those as well. 

༺──────────────────═༻❁༺═──────────────────༻

Derek is not a man to be fooled twice, usually. He was understandably- disbelieving of his uncle, when he told him about a supposed foxhunt meant to take place this morning; orchestrated by Baron Grantley, who has grown tired of the beast raiding his hen house, and for the better of two weeks has not managed to catch the thing, now hoping- perhaps someone else could do it for him.

Admittedly not feeling much up to it, Derek wanted to decline the invitation.. until Peter told him the Stilinski youth would also attend- that is.

Making his way through his bustling pack of scent hounds he brought along for the occasion, with a jolly jump in his steps that had his uncle on the verge of breaking down in laughter. It is evidence of his good mood that Derek did not even feel irritated by Peter's buffoonery nor any of his uncle's jabs at his person.

The young Stilinski looked positively scandelous in his riding habit. Instead of the wide legged- skirt-like trousers Omega males usually wore; and what had been what Derek has seen the youth dressed in since they first met, the Omega was now dressed in formfitting tight-cut pantaloons, hugging the long, slim shape of his legs from thigh to calve like a second skin, showing his nicely rounded- derriere with little regard for society nor Derek's heart.

Indeed, Derek must have been drunk off his high spirits for before he even realized- he had approached the Omega without a second thought.

''You will join us on the hunt then i asume?'' Derek truly hoped the youth would not cut him.

''I will. I told you i enjoy hunting.''

''As do i. Greatly, in fact.'' the Alpha answers, voice jittering. ''And this piece? Quite hefty artillery to hunt a single fox.'' He can't believe how without even trying - this Omega achieves to have Derek utterly making a fool of himself.

The youth makes a show of handling the rifle in his hands, not the type of highly decorated weapons people used for sport, no- it is military calibre, heavy and hefty. ''I can handle a gun just fine, my lord. I was thinking i might shoot myself a pheasant along the way.''

''Or perhaps an Alpha or two, don't tell me i would not make a fine trophy over the fire place.'' He has no clue what he's even saying at this point, the words are just sputtering out of him, Derek can barely hear himself talk over the loud drumming of his heartbeat in his ears.

Lo and behold, the corners of the youth's mouth wobble with laughter before managing to wrangle it into submission, and into a facade of indifference.

''Your hounds?'' The Omega asks, scratching one of the dogs behind an ear. ''Father unfortunately did not allow me to bring along Ula, my dog. Said she'd make more trouble than be of help.'' 

Derek could not help but imagine a spaniel, with large eyes like their owner, or more likely a terrier- given the Omega's disposition. Just as he is about to ask the youth about what kind of dog- the trumpet sounds, announcing the start of the hunt.

\----

With ease he swings a leg over the saddle, nearly throwing himself from his horse in his distress. Derek's heart almost stops at the sight of all the dogs surrounding the Omega whose sprawled on the ground, impeding the furiously barking animals from getting near the fox den. There is a kitten peeking out of the fox's earth from behind the Omegas back, the youngling still mostly a grey brown color, barely weeks old. 

Derek curses under his breath. ''Get away from there damn it, will you! You will end up hurt.''

The Omega points his gun at the Alpha, every muscle tensed for action. ''You forget yourself, your lordship. You have no rights to allow or disallow anything I may choose to do. You have, in fact, no claim over me whatsoever.''

Instead of looking down the barrel of the rifle pointed directly at him, like any partially sane man would; Derek's gaze is fixed on the Omega's face - flushed red like a winter apple. Ears, cheeks and that lovely nose of his, reddened from the cold. Hair come undone, wild locks escaping the silk bow in the nape of his neck and falling in ringlets across his face panting with exertion. 

So polished and disheveled at the same time. Looking at Derek with a hard stare. A very un-Omegan stare. No, false. It is in fact very Omegan, demanding and unwavering.

Omegas are softhearted creatures with minds of steel- once those minds are made up, and this particular Omega is anything if not hard headed to a fault. 

Derek whistles the dogs back to his side, and the animals obey, albeit reluctantly. ''I won't let them get hurt. I promise.'' The Alpha mellows his tone and the Stilinski youth's expression softened into that of mild astonishment. 

Offering his hand to help the Omega off the ground. ''Let's go back, Michi.. Min.. Milshisl- Mishisly..'' 

The Omega bursts out laughing, a loud barking- klaxon sound that comes from deep in the belly and tapers off into soft giggles like chiming silver bells. ''The lord Derek may call me Stiles, wouldn't want you to suffer a fit of apoplexy attempting to pronounce my name, now would we?'' Accepting Derek's help, he takes the Alpha's hand.

None of both are wearing gloves, and Derek revels in the sensation of these long, thin, icy cold fingers against his. He refuses to let go until he had warmed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't actually hate Derek- he just playing hard to get Haha! (｡╹▽╹｡; )
> 
> What do you think? Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


	5. Morning troubles

Taking a stroll to rid himself of his morning troubles- has become a rather common occurrence as of late. In point of fact, every morning of his was troubled - ever since he has first met the Stilinski youth. No. Stiles, he corrects himself mentally. The Omega told him to call him Stiles.

It is early, impolitely early even. Regardless of the time of day, Derek finds himself standing infront of the Hillside estate, now residence of the Stilinski's. 

Winter has come and gone much too fast, and now with the rapid thawing of white frost on evergreens- and the blossoming of white and yellow and violet spring blooms, there was only dread. 

Derek would very soon depart and move to London for the season, what subsequently meant his attempts of converging and winning the Stilinski youth's favour would, like it or not, come to an inevitable halt. Derek will not risk disappearing for months, only to then return and see Stiles betrothed- or worse yet- wed to someone who wasn't him.

Unacceptable.

Resolute and steadfast, Derek reminds himself over and over again with every step, his breath trailing in soft clouds behind him as he walks. He was here to convince the Omega that Derek is a man worth of his attention. Determined to not leave this door sill before succeeding in his intend. 

Yet before he could ever reach for the brass knocker - the door comes up to meet him, nearly hitting Derek in the face as it swings open; revealing young Mitschi - Mishilav, Stiles. Stiles, he reminds himself again. dressed in nothing but his nightshirt and an- admittedly, terribly ugly and threadbare woolen dressing gown of an un-namable color. 

The young Alpha is no dandy- and may have no sense for fashion, but even he can tell that the robe is an affront to the eyes. 

And still, even wearing this horrendous, knitted atrocity, offence to the senses, the Omega was nothing if not absolutely lovely.

The shirt is of a nearly transulent muslin, and showed through the fabric- the points of the Omegas nipples, pebbled in the frigid morning air. Legs bare, long, slim and porcelain pale - with knees like a storks - gristly. Derek feels overcome with need to kiss these knobby knees in reverence. 

It is a shock, of course. The only person Derek has ever seen in their night clothes- is himself, and that barely, given that he sleeps in the nude most of times. He wonders if it was natural to stare as flagrantly as he does, or if it was simply like appreciating a fine piece of art. Why would he not look? How could he not look? When the youth was all doe eyes, beauty marks and wild sleep-tousled hair, unabashed and openly displayed to him, so artfully made.

Derek's mind was conjuring the wildest of fantasies when all of a sudden- what appears to be a bear, comes out of nowhere and attacks. It snaps it's teeth at the Alpha like it wanted to bite his troubles right off. 

''Dash it! Ula, Stop!'' Stiles yells.

Derek startles in place. This is Ula? Not on any account was this a dog. 

''Devil it! Bloody- Hell- sarded- shit!'' The youth curses loudly and profanely as he wrestles with the too large animal, trying to hold back the enormous fiend from mauling Derek. Pulling on its leather collar, tail and ears all while talking to it in some gibberish of a language. 

Omegas are not supposed to curse and swear, for they are meant to be polite and well spoken, meant to blush at the very concept of vulgarity. They were not supposed to say such obscenities- and it made Stiles so much more charming for it.

''I do not recall having extended a morning call towards you, my lord- but whatever it is be quick, for if Ula decides to chase you down now i don't think i could hold her back.'' Stiles graces him with a tight smile, fine arms straining from the tight hold he has on the dog's collar, it's enormous head resting on the Omega's hip. 

The beast is still snarling at the Alpha, teeth bared, entirely undeterred in its fury by the Omega's pale hand petting over it's face in hope of calming the slobbering monster, occasionally poking it in one of it's eyes by accident in doing so.

It takes a moment for Derek to collect his mental bearings, too distracted by- where fierce Ula's head is resting, a wet patch of dog drool has made the soft muslin of the youth's night-shirt transparent, allowing the rosy tint of bare flesh to glint through the thin fabric. 

The Alpha finally manages to tear his eyes from the wet spot on the night shirt, reining in his ungentlemanly thoughts. 

''I am to travel to London for Parliament, and will be there most probably- until late summer.'' Inhaling deeply to steel himself, chest tightening with determination. ''I am here to inquire if you would allow me to correspond with you via letter.'' Derek blurts out on the exhale, nearly tripping over his words.

''The Lord Derek wants my permission.. to- send me a letter?'' the Omega asks, sounding uncertain.

''No, i wish to know if you would respond to said letter with one of your own.. if i were to send one, that is.'' Derek says gruffly, his face inscrutable.

''Ah. And Whyever, my lord, would i want to do that? Respond to that hypothetical letter of yours?'' 

''Because it would make my stay in London somewhat bearable, and i believe you to be merciful enough to take pity on me for i will be utterly miserable there otherwise.''

Stiles lifts a cynical brow at that. ''And you believe, that me knowing- you being utterly miserable, will persuade me into changing that- out of compassion?''

''I might not know you well, but i know- you are not cruel.'' Derek hesitates for a heartbeat- before continuing, ''If you would allow me, i'd wish to get to know you.''

༺──────────────────═༻❁༺═──────────────────༻

Oh, buggering hell. Shutting the door Stiles immediately slumps against it, head warm and muzzy and feeling unnaturally aware of his body. 

The Duke Hale must have abysmal opinions of him already, Stiles truly does not want to know what the man must possibly think of him now that he has seen him in practically nothing but his underthings.. not that Stiles cared. He truly does not. Not in the least.

What decent person even appears without notice this early in the morning at someone elses door? The lord Hale was not a friend of the family- no matter what his papa says; they are but merely sharing a property line. 

Admittedly- in most households people don't walk around in their night shirts, but that is beside the point entirely. 

Dukes have such ridiculously high standards anyway- who ever is supposed to live up to them. His Grace may think of Stiles whatever he damn pleases, for Stiles does not care whatever it is others think of him, least of all the lord Derek. 

Righting himself again with a huff the Omega pulls his dressing gown close, he glances down to see Ula giving him a look, grumbling lowly to make her displeasure known.

Stiles sighs. ''I will walk you later. I promise.'' he tries to soothe her, kneading one of her ears softly in his hand, ushering her along to the dining room.

The lot of them make quite the unrefined picture with everyone breaking fast still in their night clothes, and Stiles wonders what the Lord Derek might think if he could see them like this. 

Letting himself fall into a seat with everyone else on the table, his father, Parrish and Ennis look at Stiles, confused and masticating. 

''Were you not about to make a round with Ula?'' Parrish asks inquisitively from over the rim of his coffee cup.

''His Grace was by the door.'' Is all Stiles says.

''The Duke Hale? At our door? At this hour?'' His papa sounds surprised. He has bread crumbs in his moustache. 

The Omega sighs, stirring a spoon of jam into his tea, letting it clink against the china noisily. ''Yes, papa.''

''And he has seen you like this?'' His father asks, eyes on the thin material of his sons night shirt, brows furrowed.

Poking at the egg on his plate with a fork, the soft yolk breaks- soaking everything around it in viscid yellow. Stiles has lost his appetite. ''Yes, papa.'' he murmurs again, noncommittally.

''Do i have to get the dueling pistols or the musket? Parrish get my musket!'' His father orders. Parrish- of course, the ever abiding soldier loyal to his superior, up and leaves to fetch the weapon in an instant. 

Papa abruptly stands and leaves the table, with his eyes now taken off the plate, Ula's head surfaces from beneath the table. She hastily eats, with loud slobbering sounds, the unsupervised bacon and eggs, and disappears again before someone could reprimand her for it.

Parrish meets his father again on his way to the doors, handing the older man the gun. Still in his night-shirt, embroidered turkish slippers and night cap, loaded musket in hand and ready for battle- papa looks positively ridiculous. 

Stiles shouts for him to stop, loudly. Loudly enough to get everyones attention and have them halt just as they are about to make their way out the door.

''I have never once said i was bothered by his attentions.'' Stiles declares. 

Everybody just stares at him, incredulous. 

''Who wouldn't enjoy the attentions of a handsome lord.'' he confesses, his cheeks hot to the touch.

''He is a duke.'' Parrish rectifies.

Stiles huffs. ''Whatever.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek's morning troubles- are the damn boners he gets. haha! (ˉ▽ˉ；)...
> 
> It was more common and fashionable to have lap dogs, but being fashionable is not in Stiles' nature - so instead he has a Caucasian Ovcharka. 
> 
> What do you think? Also- Check out my other Sterek fic; -THE HUNT IS ON-, if you haven't already.  
> Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated!


	6. London rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year Everyone!! ҉*\\( ‘ω’ )/*҉ 
> 
> （；￣ェ￣）Let's hope 2021 will be better, yes?
> 
> Anyways- first update of the year. Hope you enjoy!

Rain in the city is nothing like rain in the countryside, Derek muses. It doesn't smell fresh and sweet as it replenishes streams and revives the surrounding gardens and woodlands, no, it merely forms foul smelling brown puddles on the pavement- and drives the borough Scavengers onto the streets to sweep the muck upon Derek's feet. 

Thankfully, Bentham- his valet, had made him dress in gumboots.

Truly, it is an absolutely disgusting after noon in London and Derek is anything but pleased that he had to run his own errands for the day.

When his uncle first told him, months ago, to arrange for staff at Grosvenor street and prepare the townhouse for their arrival- for the place stands derelict for the most part of the year and would be downright uninhabitable, Peter reckoned.. Derek ably ignored him. 

With the benefit of hindsight, he has to reluctantly admit that Peter might have been in the right.

Derek believed that travelling with Bentham and cook would be more than sufficient- given that neither he nor his uncle will spend much time in their London abode - inbetween parliament sittings and showing face at whatever party and event Peter will drag him along to. 

But Derek now finds himself in the predicament of having no footmen for taking care of the more menial daily tasks - such as picking up his new coat from the tailor in this sodding weather. He only had himself to blame for it. 

The presence of the familiar pediment facade of his London residence- across the street is of little to no comfort to him, sodden and tetchy as he is, standing ankle-deep in the muck of the road. 

Insisting that his life is a series of indignities, a comedic tragedy written by someone with an incredibly dark and vile sense of humor - for otherwise there simply was no explanation for this. 

The Stilinski's are in London, and they have brought along Ula.

Addled, he watches Stiles, dressed in a much too large fur lined military pelisse, unsuccessfully attempt to wrangle the umbrella in hand close- against the wind and rain, meanwhile wrestling the too large dog by the leash, as he stumbles his way up one of the houses steps.

Hurrying to cross the street, almost getting hit by a coach passing, to help the Omega in his predicament, Derek arrives just in time to prevent the Stilinski youth from falling over backwards down the steps. Catching him against his chest, Stiles head lands upon his breast- allowing him a lung full of the Omega's honeyed scent.

Stiles looks up at the duke- with wide amber eyes, and offers no greeting- but instead a smile, and Derek's heart threatens to jump into his throat. His hands come up to help the youth back to his feet, but then stops himself- a whisker away from touching the Omega's hip. How improper, Derek chides himself mentally. 

''Will you permit me to place my hands on you to support you?'' The duke asks, the knot of his cravat suddenly too tight around his neck.

Stiles laughs. ''If i said no, would you let me fall?'' 

Of course he would not. 

Trying to right himself again on his own- the Omega's formidably pointy elbow somehow manages to hit Derek in a most crucial spot. The Alpha feels his face grimacing in pain and hears the youth- joyously laugh at his anguish. 

''I'm glad you find it amusing. But please don't do that again.'' Derek's voice comes out strained as he follows, now- bow legged up the steps. 

''How come you did not tell me you would attend the season.'' The Alpha tries to not sound accusatory and sulky about it, but he fails.

''You did not ask, my lord.'' Stiles simply responds with a shrug of the shoulder. 

Derek huffs irritated, and just about to voice his thoughts- when the dog by his side growls, low and deep and threatening, making the Alpha think it over.

''Ula be nice, will you. You have made more than enough trouble today.'' Stiles chides her. The dog responds by drooling over the deep green fabric of the Omega's pelisse, smearing it in strings of thick saliva.

Almost diffidently, the youth looks up at Derek from beneath fawn lashes. ''The Martins are travelling the continent- most conveniently timed during the season, leaving Lydia in our care. She threatened to shave my head if i were to make her endure the season on her own- among all these spiteful debutantes. I may be dreading being dragged from shop to shop by Lydia, but spending- until summer all on my own in the country seemed awfully boring now- wouldn't it?''

Taking in the youth, the tumble of his chestnut curls, the sweep of his lashes, the curve of his lips as he worries the bottom one between his teeth - Derek finds himself battling the urge to lean forward to lick and soothe that lip.

''-Perhaps the lord Derek would fancy a cup of tea, da?''

Released from his trance, the Alpha realizes he has followed the Stilinski youth- like a dog- up the steps to the entrance, and was just about ready to walk into the house as if he owned it. Derek feels his face heat with embarrassment, but accepts the invitation regardless.

They walk into the house after Ula, who is dragging quiet a bit of mud inside, her large paws leaving prints all over the fine carpets.

''Ennis this is the lord Derek, Lord Derek.. Ennis.'' Stiles introduces a large Alpha man, likely a footman- who is helping the Omega out of his coat and then neatly hanging it up in the dresser.

Derek nods his head towards- Ennis in aknowledgement, and hands the man his hat and coat. Ennis looks at them for but a second and carelessly tosses the duke's belongings over the stair railing. Derek feels inclined to say something in regard- but is distracted by Stile's hand suddenly on his arm, pulling him along by the sleeve and into a sitting room.

Derek feels awfully out of place in the bustle and flurry of half a dozen ladies- animatedly talking among each other, and even more so when they finally spot him- and the loud room goes deadly silent in response to his appearance, before bursting into hushed whispers behind silk fans.

༺──────────────────═༻❁༺═──────────────────༻

Young, brash and full of piss, and apparently unable of seeing anywhere past the point of his own nose- Jackson Whittemore is what one would call an untoward prat. Lydia had fancied him once upon a time- for some incomprehensible reason, but ever since returning from his grand tour- the Whittemore heir has become positively intolerable.

''I'm a man of simple pleasures.'' Stiles hears him say from across the room- and then prose on about how provincial he found England, now that he has spent the winter months in France.

Oh they have all heard about his stay in france already, young Whittemore's pleasures provided more fodder for ton gossip mills than a dozen young bucks bundled together.

Sometimes Stiles can not help but feel a tad bitter and resentful, seeing young ladies and lords- cosset and blissfully frivolous, whose only worriment at times seem to be idle talk. Occasionally harassed by their mindless chatter about Parisian fashion plates and scandalous french literature. 

Unlike most of the ton- whom Stiles unexplainably finds himself part of- he does not speak french, and neither does he have the desire to learn it. He simply cares not for the french, simple as that.

Bonaparte had been at war with the world as long as Stiles has been alive for. That man has stolen his entire childhood, his mother and almost his father as well, and yet merely years later- nobody seems to remember it even happened.

That much is to be expected, he supposes, for much of the haut ton have not seen war. They have not seen the horror that is a battlefield after the fight, the local people going through the heaps of dead men like crows, scavenging for rings and watches, and pulling teeth from the corpses of soldiers- to sell. Nor did they ever have to help in a field hospital with overworked medics losing those who did not die of their wounds- to infection instead.

They don't hear his papa- restlessly pacing around the house in the dead of night because nightmares keep him awake, or see Parrish flinch with every loud sound that reminds him of canon fire; How they seem blind to the sight of the once soldiers- who risked their lives and lost their limbs, littering the streets. 

Yes, Stiles admits, he sometimes feels a tad bitter and resentful. Get togethers like this were always so tedious.

Taking a careful sip from the steaming teacup in hand, he lets his eyes wander from Whittemore to the duke Hale- seated beside him on the Mahogany Framed Settee, looking awkwardly rigid and uncomfortable. It is not often Stiles has someone to be miserable with, and his Grace looks miserable indeed. 

Stiles must confess- he greatly enjoys the company. Until he no longer does..

No doubt- attracted by the most prosperous bachelor in the room, not unlike a fly to shit, Miss Mary Pinfield appears. As pretty as she is richly dowered, her family's business- one of England's largest ship building companies- made her, despite the lack of title, quite the catch, if not- the diamond of the ton. 

Neither him nor Lydia like her very much, the sole reason for why she was even invited- is so Lydia could assess her superiority over her, or something equally as ridiculous.

Miss Mary's chaperone, her sister Fanny, seems to be trying her best to quietly deter her, but as usual- she is ignored.

Poor Fanny, who at twentysix is allegedly- much too old, and by the very words of her own mother- of inferior value to her younger sister; which Stiles finds utterly ridiculous and just plain rude. Fanny is a delight and grunts like a pig when she laughs, Stiles simply can not understand why no one is willing to court her. 

Mary gives Stiles a self-complacent little smile as she takes it upon herself to sit right by the Duke's side, uninvited and so close she was nearly seated on the lord Derek's lap, her abundant skirts draped over the Alpha's legs, and going as far as putting one of her satin gloved hands on the duke's shoulder. 

Stiles suppresses the urge to throw his cup of hot tea into her hateful pretty face.

Lord Derek raises a ducal brow at her hand upon him, features radiating displeasure. ''Do I know you, madam? I think not.'' The Alpha rolls his shoulder to throw Miss Mary's hand off it, before righting his tailcoat and standing up. 

Stiles nearly barks a laugh at her shocked expression, wide eyed and sooty-lashed, as she watches the Duke take his leave in a stride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (／・ω・)／I know people like the; tragical, emotionally scarred proud male Alpha hero- who fights his own heart and past demons for the entire length of the book and eventually gives in to love and the heroine's charms and wit, in their regency romance.. i do too... 
> 
> -which is why i felt the need to NOT make Derek into a brooding asshole who denies he is steadily falling in love, but instead- a socially awkward bumbling love struck fool stumbling over his own feet trying to figure out how to woo the one person he actually likes. yea.
> 
> Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated!! Let me know what you think. ヽ(；▽；)ノ


	7. dinner invitations

Instead of walking around, Stiles makes the conscious effort of climbing over Lydia- who is stiffly and most uncomfortably perched upon the settee as to prevent her skirt from crinkling, almost stepping on her fine gauze and satin gown in the process. 

Letting himself sink into the cushions by her side with a huff, he glances over the edition of Bell's weekly messenger his friend is reading with- to him- incomprehensible alacrity. Licking her thumb as she pages through the paper, a habit Miss Worthall, Lydia's governess, reprimands her for. 

They are invited to a dinner party by the Viscountess Talbot, Lydia's great aunt on her mother's side, whom she helped with the choice of guests, the invitations, selection of buffet food and dance music over the past week. Meaning- Stiles has to attend or else Lydia would make true on her threats of shaving off his eyebrows in his sleep.

They have been dressed and ready- for the better of an hour now, and Stiles is beginning to feel quite mad with tedium, and admitedly quiet hungry. But they are still waiting for his Papa.

All military neatness, precision and punctuality seems to have been left on the battlefield against Napoleon, for his father is an awful slob when it came to anything that isn't warfare.

''If it wasn't for Parrish- Papa would be running around without trousers on all day long.'' Stiles mumbles to himself, counting the decorative wood panels on the ceiling above.

A throat clears. ''Trousers, Omega Stilinski, if they have to be spoken of at all, are referred to as unmentionables, inexpressibles or ineffables.'' 

Stile keeps himself from sighing. Miss Worthall's ideas of propriety seem positively ancient and admittedly somewhat ridiculous. For some reason the governess has taken it upon herself to try and educate him- despite it not being her responsibility to do so, given that Lydia is her ward, not him. 

Stiles does terribly with authority, which naturally leads to them bickering all the time whenever the opportunity for it arose. 

''And if i decide to call them trousers anyway?'' He taunts.

Miss Worthall stares at him without humor in her eyes. ''That would be very improper.'' 

Stiles rolls his eyes in a most improper way in response. ''Do not bother, i'm simply too stubborn to listen.'' 

Lydia snorts, trying to cover her mouth with her hand.

Miss Worthall's right brow gives an ominous twitch. ''I am patient. You will see- before the season is over i will have taught you refinements and accomplishments, and made a respectable society Omega out of you.''

''I highly doubt that. You must know i can be very stubborn, horrible dancer- with no head for the modern languages.'' Stiles keeps insisting.

A properly raised omega would never banter like this, but Stiles is not properly raised- by the standards of London society. He was not brought up with a governess, his mama instead raised and educated him herself- and she wasn't someone to care much for societal rules. After she was gone Stiles has spent most of his youth in barracks and military camps, amongst soldiers with little to no mind for manners or care for mores. 

It is in Stiles nature to question and argue. Now he is on a sudden expected to- not voice his opinions, not speak his thoughts, control his emotions- never cry, never get upset, never get angry, never smile too much or laugh too hard, be the way a proper and polished Omega behaved. 

To him it all sounds like a dreadful hassle and awfully boring.

Miss Worthall likes to tell him- no one would ever wish to marry him if he did not learn to behave as a society Omega should. But Miss Worthall always behaves like a society Omega and no one has ever wished to marry her either, so- it truly makes no difference in the end, he reasons.

In any case, Stiles is much too young to get leg-shackled. Young enough that he could be the son of some of these- eligible bachelors he is presented to on the daily. 

Stiles is about to keep on arguing, if only to battle the boredom, when his Papa walks into the sitting room- as subtle as an ox, strodding around in his decorated hussar uniform like a prancing peacock, more done up than even the prince regent in his portraits. He was going to garner the attention of every widow in attendance dressed like that. 

Stiles scoffs, wanting to complain to Lydia about the ridiculousness of it, but she is engrossed in her reading, paying him no mind.

Stiles opens the door and hops into the coach without the aid of steps, nearly falling face flat first into the carriage. He had insisted on riding with Lydia and miss Worthall as to not have to look upon his father for the whole of the way to the Talbots. 

It was only once they were seated and the tapping of the horses picked up speed, that Lydia leans close to him and whispers in his ear. ''I have had aunt Elinor invite the Duke Hale.''

''Lydia!'' Stiles almost shrieks, earning himself a disapproving eyebrow from Miss Worthall, sitting across on the padded cushions of the other seat.

''But you fancy him.''

''You are quite misguided lady Martin, because i- in fact- do not,'' he snaps. 

Like hell he would admit to anything so absurd infront of miss Worthall, who is so terribly eager to have his- etiquette-less person married off by the end of his first season, and make him- what she would surely consider - her greatest success. 

''I find him- terribly infuriating and you would sooner see me-'' He huffs, searching his mind for something to say. ''-eat a fist full of sand, than find myself interested in him.''

He looks across at the governess and her inquisitive right brow. It seems he had no other choice, he would simply have to employ his considerable intellect to conceal his humiliating infatuation for the evening.

༺──────────────────═༻❁༺═──────────────────༻

Fine Viennese wine, after the first three swigs, tastes just like any other cheap wine, Derek ponders.

Sighing- impatiently, he glances at his pocket watch and back to admiring the twin blue and white Oriental jars on the mantelpiece. Peter seems to have decided to arrive fashionably late, again, leaving Derek to fend for himself. He has no desire to mingle with the other guests, but to his luck- wearing his customary bored expression, which most mistake for brooding- or general bad humour, granted him some privacy. 

After all, Derek's mere presence alone- gave everyone plenty enough to talk about during dinner parties like these, even without him taking part in conversation.

He has no tolerance for idle chat. There is a reason he enjoys a life of quietude in the country, away from the too proud and self-posessed elite and indolent leisure class- whom constantly question his political stance and most rudely inquire about his private life, only to go on and pester him with endless talk of their young marriageable sons and daughters- Derek has entirely no interest in.

By now one would think word has made its round, apprising people that the duke of Hale was not in London- in search of a bride. Perhaps he has to be more brash in the way he rejects such propositions, in order to no longer be attacked by unmarried young ladies and their overzealous mothers everywhere he goes.

Sometimes he wonders if he should have followed Cora. She seems to greatly enjoy the liberties she has in the united states, great game as well, she mentions in her letters to him.

But if he had left for America- he would have missed the way Stiles' cognac eyes meet his from across the room, the way the Omega's cheeks dimple with a quiver of the smile he gives him, and the lovely picture the Stilinski youth paints- in his bronze green ensemble - fiercely bold, avant-garde, and quite startlingly form fitting.   
Bloody, bloody hell.

Omegas truly are masters of providing inner peace- as much as physical and mental torment. Or it might just be this particular Omega who is so inimitably good at- utterly tormenting him. 

Derek tries- unsucsessfully- to suppress the smile upon his lips, his long strides wasting no time, but his approach is intercepted by the marshal- who looks just about ready for battle, pulling him into one of the man's customary bone crushing embraces.

They exchange greetings and pleasantries, marshal Stilinski telling him about how surprised he is to see him here, yet Derek only listens halfheartedly, his attention fixed on the Omega instead - who for some reason is refusing to look anywhere but his way.

The marshal seems to notice as well and barks something in whatever language it is the Stilinskis speak. Stiles reacts, even if reluctantly. 

Stepping up to Derek, the youth standing close enough he is able to see his own reflection in those amber eyes looking back at him. Stiles gives a mumbled 'lord Derek' and bobs a quick curtsy. 

If Derek were someone else he would be able to find pretty words to liken the Omega's eyes to, but all he can think of is that they look like the eyes of a religious fanatic, a heretic, who knows his own believes and is entirely convinced of them- to the point he would die a martyr death defending them.

Yes, the Omega's eyes are truly captivating.

''You look truly fetching this evening.'' Derek almost startles at the sound of his own voice. Did he genuinely just promulgate that? He looks towards the marshal- whos eyes are quickly darting inbetween the duke and his son inquisitively. 

Derek clears his throat.

Naturally Stiles does not blush, nor coyly smile, or do any of the things people did when paid a compliment, no. Instead he scowls, scrunching his pretty little nose up before averting his eyes, preferring to look upon Derek's boots instead. Absentmindedly toying the pendant on his necklace, an impeccably cut diamond- the size of Derek's thumbnail. 

It is a fanciful— and no doubt expensive thing, and the Omega bats the gem around as if it were a pebble, not caring that the stone is most definitely worth a fortune. 

Derek is reminded again of something he had asked himself before in passing.. he has not once heard someone refer to neither the marshal nor Stiles by rank or title, so.. who exactly are they? 

That question is again reinforced when Derek finds his seat beside Stiles', who is seated right by the hostess' side. Derek looks about the room- then towards madam Talbot, wondering if it might be a mistake on her part, a no doubt welcome one - though a mistake none the less. 

In the end he decides to keep silent about it- else the sitting order might be changed and he'd find the Omega on the opposite end of the table from him.

Derek enjoys how the Omega's knee on occasion softly swipes against his own by accident beneath the table. Reminding him he has seen these knees- bare, those endlessly long slim legs haunting his dreams ever since he layed eyes upon them. Growing hot around the collar he tugs on it in hopes of loosening his kravat a bit.

Taking meticulous mental notes on what it was the Omega enjoyed eating- and the things he did not. Stiles does not seem all too fond of tongue and brains, but greatly enjoyed the Collared eel and Stewed pears as well as the pork aspic.

He learns that the Omega has a frightening head for numbers, and while many Alpha's would most probably be intimidated by that- Derek is simply awed.

''The lord Derek broods too much.'' Stiles tells him. ''How can you look this stern when the pears are this good?'' 

''What? What did you say dear?'' Madam Talbot shouts, demanding- loudly- for the Omega to repeat himself as she holds the horn to her ear directly into the youth's face, pretending she was deaf. Derek knows for a fact she is not and it is simply part of her spiel in order to eavesdrop on others conversations without being called out on it. 

''I suppose one can not help one's nature.'' Stiles continues.

''What would my nature be then?'' Derek entertains him.

''Broody, arrogant, meddlesome, rude,'' the Omega begins.

Derek is delighted, cheeks wonderfully hurting from smiling. ''I thought we were talking about me, but here you are- describing yourself.'' 

Stiles laughs, loud enough for the entire room to hear. 

A deep rumbling begins low in his chest and before Derek realizes it- he is laughing as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, should i bring Kate into this?? 
> 
> Anyways, what do you think? Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated!!

**Author's Note:**

> yea.. this one will be just a short few chapters (most likely). Like an outlet- for my need to write that half assed fictive historical A/B/O AU i so craved. I have no talent for flowery writing nor any real idea of early 19th century etiquette and am entirely unsure if my sentence-structures actually make any sense. 
> 
> anyway- what do you think? Kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


End file.
